


Watch Me

by guerillareyes



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Fluff, M/M, deaf!Anders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-11 10:20:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4431548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guerillareyes/pseuds/guerillareyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Generally speaking, Hawke was a tolerant, understanding man. His friends loved him. His siblings loved him, probably. One time he fostered a puppy and didn’t get mad when it pissed on the floor.</p><p>So the fact that his blood boiled every time his neighbor blared music in the middle of the night concerned him. He was better than that, calmer than that; dubstep pounding the walls at 1am shouldn’t bother him. He went to college. He, personally, had done worse.</p><p>But it did bother him. Oh, Maker, did it bother him.</p><p>(Or: Anders is deaf and Hawke is an idiot.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Generally speaking, Hawke was a tolerant, understanding man. His friends loved him. His siblings loved him, probably. One time he fostered a puppy and didn’t get mad when it pissed on the floor.

So the fact that his blood _boiled_ every time his neighbor blared music in the middle of the night concerned him. He was better than that, calmer than that; dubstep pounding the walls at 1am shouldn’t bother him. He went to college. He, personally, had done worse.

But it did bother him. Oh, _Maker,_ did it bother him.

He would have been satisfied with just one night of silence. Just one. But no, the man that lived across from him (he knew it was a man – Hawke had directed his fury through the tiny peephole in his door enough times to know) had a schedule. Whenever Hawke would attempt to sleep, the fucking music would start up and shake the walls like a tornado was threatening to tear the place down.

But no. It was just music. Hawke would throw his pillow over his head and think _Maybe an actual tornado would be better than this._

Surely, the other tenants thought the same. Right? Hawke had only been living in the complex for a few weeks, but the man had to have received noise complaints before. There was no way that Hawke could believe otherwise.

In that case, his neighbor was just an asshole. An asshole that ignored noise ordinances and was finally, _finally_ going to get an earful from Hawke the next morning.

Maker, he just wanted to sleep. Was that really so much to ask?

 

* * *

 

 

The morning after found him sleep deprived and moderately annoyed – the perfect mood to confront his neighbor in. It was a Saturday morning, thankfully, and the other man would undoubtedly be home; he had a habit of playing music during lunch on the weekend, too.

Hawke’s eyelid twitched. Best to get it over with.

The man lived right next to him, of course. He knocked twice, trying to reign in the sullen looking pout that had cropped up on his face.

Thirty seconds passed, and nothing. He knocked again. And again. He could hear the infuriatingbeat of the music inside, mocking him, so he knew that his neighbor was there. Ignoring him, probably, and Hawke couldn’t really blame him. A ruddy color tainted his cheeks and with a grunt he threw his fist against the door, a loud bang echoing through the hall.

The neighbors were awake now, if they weren’t before. But his infuriating, inconsiderate dick of a neighbor was still not answering the door and Hawke was about ready to throw himself out of a window. He took a step back, his fist clenched, and stared at the door.

The music stopped. Hawke looked stunned, frozen in place for a few moments before his senses returned to him and he brought his hand up to strike at the door.

Before he could do so, the door opened and a bewildered looking man stepped out. His hair was pulled up in a sloppy bun, a bag slung across his shoulder, clearly intent on getting _somewhere_. Although the shocked expression lingered, the man’s lips transitioned from a soft looking ‘o’ into a smile. He raised a hand in greeting.

Hawke expected him to say something but the neighbor gave him nothing but the wave before staring at him with inquisitive eyes. Hawke cleared his throat.

“Your music,” Hawke said. “It’s really loud. I wouldn’t mind if you didn’t do it at one in the morning, but you do. So.”

The man’s eyes shot down to Hawke’s lips, watching intently as he spoke. He hesitated before pointing at himself and drawing a quick line from his ear to his mouth with his finger.

Hawke blinked. Had he been staring at his lips? Not that Hawke particularly minded. “Does that, uh. Mean something?”

The blond shook his head with a frustrated sigh, reaching into the bag slung across his shoulders and grabbing a small pad of paper and a pen. He bit the pen cap off with his teeth and took a few seconds to write before handing it over.

**_I’m deaf._ **

Hawke nearly choked. Well, neglecting to answer the door made sense now. And the music. And the lip-staring.

Boy, he sure felt like a jackass.

With heat rising in his face, he attempted to grab the pen, but the blond shook his head and pulled it away, scribbling a few more words.

**_Appreciate the company but what did you need me for?_ **

**_My name is Anders btw._ **

Anders, as the paper supplied, handed over the pen and pad. Hawke quickly wrote,

**_I’m Hawke. Was gonna yell at you for playing your music so loud in the middle of the night but now I feel like a dick._ **

Anders cocked his head, concern evident in his features.

**_How loud is it?_ **

**_And what kind of name is Hawke_ **

Hawke laughed. A man named _Anders_ was asking him what was wrong with his name? He wrote down a lengthier reply this time, feeling a bit odd as Anders stood over him, watching.

**_Really loud!! We share a wall and it shakes the whole apt. I thought you were just doing it to be a dick. Sorry. But it’s still loud._ **

In slightly messier script below:

**_You have no room to judge._ **

Anders eyebrows knitted together as he read.He jotted down a few quick words and gestured to his apartment.

**_Come help me?_ **

Confused, Hawke cocked his head. There was a leap that he was missing which Anders had apparently made between ‘Your music is really loud’ and ‘Help?’

Still, Hawke nodded, not having much choice. He cautiously followed after Anders, clicking the door shut behind him. Anders began to write at a frenzied pace while Hawke stood around, feeling awkward. Anders’ apartment, for the most part, was cleaner than his own. Dishes were stacked neatly next to the sink and the floor was bare of random articles of clothing.

The only truly _messy_ thing that Hawke could note was a desk with papers piled haphazardly across it. _Lots_ of papers. They were stacked to almost a foot in height and in the middle of it all was a small laptop. Next to it was a cup of half-drank coffee, apparently abandoned and staining the wood. Hawke’s snooping was suddenly interrupted by the notepad being shoved into his chest.

**_I had no clue my music was that loud. I think my cat might have accidentally turned up the sound without me noticing…the vibrations feel the same after a certain point. Can you check it?_ **

Hawke nodded slowly with a blink and grabbed the pen.

**_Where is it?_ **

Anders gestured to the counter behind him and picked up a small radio. Hawke’s brows raised, almost unable to believe that such a small thing could project the level of sound that it did. Anders dropped it in his hands and Hawke looked it over. It was no wonder that Anders couldn’t tell how loud it was; there were no numbers on it anywhere, just a simple dial that turned and turned. Without thinking he switched it on and was faced with the single loudestbass drop he had heard in his entire life.

He almost dropped the thing, fumbling it in his hands. Anders looked on, amused, while Hawke slammed the dial to the left. It quieted, the music turning into a softer rumble, and Hawke breathed a sigh of relief. Any more of that and he might have contracted some hearing loss himself.

Anders penned a few more words.

**_Fucking cat I swear. Why didn’t anyone tell me? How long has this been going on?_ **

Hawke hesitated before writing an answer.

**_A few weeks at least. Since I moved in._ **

A shocked expression crossed his face as Anders read. He didn’t immediately take the notebook back and instead took a few steps back, pacing around the living room while signing furiously to himself.

Hawke didn’t know what to do, really. He stood in place avoiding eye contact, scanning the room for the supposed cat that screwed up the radio. It didn’t appear, much to Hawke’s disappointment. It didn’t take Anders long to return, anyways, and he snatched the notebook back up to scribble a few more words.

**_Of course. Nobody wants to offend the deaf guy. Sorry it went on for so long, let me know if it happens again._ **

Haphazardly added below that,

**_Sorry I didn’t introduce myself. Didn’t know you moved in, been busy with work._ **

Scanning the words, Hawke’s lips shifted into a frown. He wasn’t deaf, but he _did_ know how absurdly patronizing people could be. Anders’ frustration didn’t surprise him.

**_It’s ok. Consider us even then?_ **

A small smile broke through Anders’ annoyed expression.

**_Sure. Thanks for the help. And not to be rude, but I have to leave. See you around? Now that I know you exist._ **

Hawke skimmed the words quickly and nodded. There was no need to reply; what else could he say? Ok? He turned towards the door and clicked it open, giving Anders a wave.

The man made a quick gesture, a flat palm arched forward and down from his chin. It looked a little bit like blowing a kiss, Hawke thought, but he doubted that’s what it was. He could go with pretending it was, though. Anders was cute. He grinned and stepped through the door, letting it click shut behind him.

It wasn’t exactly how he expected things to go but at least the music issue was taken care of now, hopefully. And if it wasn’t, well, then Hawke just had an excuse to go talk with his neighbor again.

There were worse things that could come of Saturday mornings.

 

* * *

 

 

The next time Hawke saw Anders, Hawke was fresh out of underwear and lugging a hamper full of dirty clothes into the communal laundry room. Anders was apparently facing the same circumstances because he wore nothing but a pair of boxers and a t-shirt while he shoved shirt after shirt into the dryer.

Hawke looked pleased. _Maybe,_ he had learned a little bit of sign language on the off chance that he would run into Anders again. Not much, just a few simple phrases, but enough to show Anders he was trying.

As he approached, he said Anders’ name like a dumbass, and of course, Anders didn’t reply. He followed up by firmly bumping his basket full of clothing into the washing machine, hoping it would draw Anders’ attention.

Somehow, it worked. Anders jumped, nearly dropping a wet pair of pants, and turned to face Hawke. He looked frazzled, but he smiled softly and waved once he realized who he was looking at.

Hawke waved back and quickly transitioned it into a sign. One that he hoped was correct.

_How are you?_

Anders’ face lit up like a beacon. His grin threatened to overtake his face as he raised his hands and made a simple sign back.

Hawke actually recognized that one and his chest puffed up with triumph. Anders hesitated for a few seconds, his face scrunched up in thought, clearly searching for simple signs that Hawke might recognize. His eyebrows raised, he signed,

_You’re learning sign?_

Hawke paused. He thought he knew what that meant – he caught the ‘you’ and the ‘sign’, at least. Contextually, there were relatively few options that made much sense.

_Yes. I know sign._

Anders laughed. Not just a tiny giggle, either, but a straight up unguarded guffaw. It was the first thing that Hawke had heard coming from Anders’ mouth with the exception of small, frustrated grunts, and Hawke couldn’t help but feel charmed.

Still, he wasn’t sure _why_ Anders was laughing. He probably fucked up a sign, and a light flush colored his cheeks.

Anders shook his head and brought two fingers up to his eyes, shaped in a v.

_Watch me._

Hawke did. Anders made a sign – the same one that he didn’t know earlier, learn, and pointed at him. He made the sign again, emphasizing it. A quick pause, and Anders place his thumb under his chin and jutted it out while shaking his head, quickly transitioning it into the sign that Hawke had mistakenly made.

_Learn. You’re learning. You don’t know it._

Understanding dawned on Hawke’s face and he nodded with partially spread lips. All he could really think to sign was an apology; things like ‘Tuesday’ and ‘Dinner’ weren’t particularly helpful.

_Ok. Sorry._

Anders grinned.

_It’s ok. I’m happy you’re learning._

Hawke did happen to know the sign for happy. But, even if he didn’t, coupled with the broad smile that Anders gave him it was pretty easy to tell what Anders was feeling. Hawke smiled back, not knowing what else to say. He emptied his laundry into the washing machine and set the timer, but before turning to go, he felt a tug on his sleeve.

Anders pointed at him and signed something and Hawke had no idea what it was. He looked at Anders questioningly but Anders just smirked, shutting the door on the dryer and turning it on before hightailing it out of the room.

Back in his apartment, Hawke googled it, of course. He _needed_ to know. It took him a few minutes, but finally after searching ‘two fingers brushed under chin sign’, he found it.

Anders had called him _cute._ Or, as he read further, _hot._ Cute or hot.

Hawke kicked back in his chair and stretched his arms behind his head.

Really, he was alright with either.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to make sure methods of communication are clear:  
> Texting: Alternating sides, time stamp  
> Signing: Italicized only  
> Writing: Bold and italicized  
> Skype: Bold usernames

The ball was firmly in his court, Hawke knew.

So of course, for some reason he couldn’t possibly figure out, Hawke did absolutely nothing for three days. He thought about doing something. Really thought about it. On day two he was halfway out the door, intent on walking the five feet over to Anders’ apartment and knocking, but he realized three feet in that Anders wouldn’t hear it.

He had scuttled back inside and almost bashed his skull into the wall in frustration. Even his _dog_ looked concerned.

Why was it so _fucking hard_ to approach this man? So he was deaf. Hawke didn’t care. He had been with a blind woman, once; the only thing that had been lacking in that encounter was the fact that she couldn’t actually see how good he looked. Anders, though…

Hawke smirked. It wasn’t the deafness that was the issue, here, but more Hawke’s…apprehension? They lived right next to each other, for Maker’s sake. They’d have to occasionally see each other and give each other those awkward too-long-too-short glances where Hawke beat himself up internally and Anders continued to be lovely.

With a disgruntled expression, Hawke dug through the disorganized basket of paperclips and free pens in his kitchen before pulling out an underused notepad. It was one in the morning and this nonsense was keeping him from sleeping. Enough was enough. He clicked one of the pens open and wrote his phone number and a short note ( _Text me – Hawke)_ before ripping the sheet off of the pad.

He stared at it. Progress, at least – more than he’d made so far. He promised himself he’d slip it into Anders’ mailbox at a reasonable hour in the morning when he was actually wearing pants.

There was only one other person he was currently interested in seeing him pantsless, and that person was _not_ the woman that did her laundry in the early hours of the morning every Tuesday.

 

 

It took him another two days to actually deliver it, and another day on top of that for Anders to text him.

When his phone went off late afternoon, Hawke nearly dived across the room to grab it and check his messages.

 

Hey! This is Anders, just saw your note. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if you were going to do anything. Thought my sign might have been a little too cryptic – I was a few days from knocking your door down myself J

4:43

Took me a bit of googling but I figured it out. Question tho: cute or hot? I need to know.

4:48

Both? Unless you have a preference. Then that one.

4:50p

I’m ok with both lol.

4:52

Then both it is. And maybe this is too sudden, but would you be ok with me coming over to your place or vice versa? For a few hours? I don’t mind text but I prefer face to face if I can help it.

4:53

 

At that response, Hawke cocked an eyebrow. Of course he wasn’t opposed. Having Anders at his place sounded like the _perfect_ way to spend an evening.

 

Yeah, of course. I can make dinner. I probably have a can of spaghetti o’s buried in the cupboard ;)

4:54

Honestly I don’t think I’ve eaten anything in the last 24 hours so even that would taste great.

4:56

Wtf? Eat! Now I have to make you an actual dinner or I’ll feel terrible.

4:59

I’ll help! Does 6:30 sound ok?

5:01

Works for me. See you then.

5:01

To say Hawke scrambled into the shower wouldn’t be much of an exaggeration. It’s not that he had any expectations of how the night would go – well – not really, anyways. But bringing Anders into his apartment while he was a hot mess of greasy hair and unkempt beard was probably not the best idea.

After hopping out of the shower, he haphazardly shaved around the edges of his beard, trimming it into its normal, rakish shape. With a pass of the razor he nicked himself and while hissing from the pain, he grabbed a few sheets of toilet paper and blotted it against his neck.

He swore under his breath, hoping to the Maker that it wouldn’t be noticeable when Anders came over.

He pulled the clump of paper away.

Yeah, no. Completely obvious. A small amount of blood trickled down his throat and landed in the sink.

He groaned and, shoving the paper back against his neck, proceeded to furiously clean his apartment. The complete filth that was his kitchen looked almost presentable after he wiped it down and shoved the dishes into the dishwasher. Thankfully, it was well-stocked enough to form some semblance of a meal, not that Anders could complain. The man _did_ only give him an hour.

The living room was clean, too, with the exception of the too-large Mabari that had plopped in the middle of the sofa. He had barely finished shoving shit off of the coffee table when he heard a knock at the door. Running a hand through his hair, he opened it.

Anders strode in like he owned the place. His hair was down, reaching just past his shoulders, and Hawke could vaguely smell cologne – patchouli? He flashed a grin at Hawke before stopping and cocking his head at the dog strewn across the couch.

_You have a dog?_

Seeing as Hawke owned a dog, he had learned the sign for it, so he managed to comprehend what Anders was signing.

_Yeah. His name is Snoop._

He fingerspelled the letters of the dog’s name, hesitating when he momentarily forgot the sign for P.

Anders’ eyebrows furrowed as he dug into his bag; a bigger one than last time, containing a laptop. Still, Anders pulled out a notepad and wrote:

**_Named after Snoopy or Snoop Dogg?_ **

Hawke smirked and grabbed the pen, internally preening at the fact that Anders could decipher his horrendous attempt at spelling.

**_Snoop Dogg, clearly._ **

Anders laughed on an exhale and shook his head.

**_You’re ridiculous._ **

**_Do you care if we use laptops instead? Skype? It’s a lot faster. My username is Anders.kw_ **

Hawke shrugged.

**_No. I’ll go grab mine._ **

After a few minutes of searching Hawke found it under a blanket in his room. When he returned, Anders had sat on the couch: petting Snoop with short, cautious strokes. His lips were pursed and body tense, apparently expecting Snoop to lash out at him like a beast.

Which he wouldn’t. Hawke had trained him well. Even if Anders smelled like cat (which Hawke was sure he did), Snoop would probably just love on him even more.

Snoop proved his point by licking a stripe up Anders’ face. Anders grunted and pushed the dog away, huddling into the corner of the couch with a pout.

With a small smirk, Hawke dropped into the chair across from Anders and opened his laptop, bringing up the chat client. It took Anders mere seconds to send him a message after the contact request went through.

 **Anders.kw:** Your dog is annoying!

Hawke looked up from his laptop, his eyebrows raised in mock offense.

 **hawkeward:** He’s just showing he cares

 **hawkeward:** in his own way

 **Anders.kw:** Cats don’t do that, you know. They just ignore you until they want something and then sit on your head.

 **hawkeward:** That sounds terrible and is why I prefer dogs

 **hawkeward:** But cats are ok. So our first fight doesn’t have to be about cats ;)

Across from him, Anders snickered.

 **Anders.kw:** Thank the Maker for that. I don’t know if I could handle it if you couldn’t at least tolerate them.

 **Anders.kw:** And when are we eating? You promised me the finest of shitty canned spaghetti and I’m fucking starving.

 **hawkeward:** fortunately I have more than that, I checked. Don’t know what you like though so you should help me look. Also why tf aren’t you eating??

 **Anders.kw:** I’m not picky, but I’ll take a look.

 **Anders.kw:** And I forget to eat because of work sometimes, especially near deadlines.

 **hawkeward:** Work? What kind of work makes you forget to eat?

 **Anders.kw:** I’m an author. I’ll start writing in the morning and then whoops it’s 2am and I need to sleep. It’s easy to forget.

 **hawkeward:** you’re an author?

 **hawkeward:** shit

 **hawkeward:** that’s cool!

 **hawkeward:** I’m going to ask you more about it later but I’m hungry too so let’s hunt for food

Anders looked up from laptop and nodded, grabbing hold of it while he stood and made his way into the kitchen. He sat the machine down with care on the counter before gesturing to the fridge with a quirked lip.

_It’s your fridge._

With an eyeroll, Hawke set his own laptop down next to Anders’ and typed out a quick reply.

 **hawkeward:** Yeah, and you said you wanted to help.

He swung open the door to the freezer and rummaged through various, potentially out of date meals before grabbing an unopened box of garlic bread. He held it up for Anders, eyebrows raised in a question.

Anders signed an enthusiastic _Yes!,_ his clenched fist bobbing up and down repeatedly while he grinned. He snatched the box from Hawke and set it down on the counter before turning to rummage in the cupboard.

Hawke watched from the side, his eyes dipping down as Anders’ shirt shifted up with the stretch of his arms. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the perfectly sculpted pelvis and as Anders pulled out a box of spaghetti, he turned, catching Hawke’s eyes before they could dart away. Anders gave him a knowing smirk, and Hawke about wanted to die _._

Hawke coughed and turned to the fridge, opening it. Despite the tomato sauce sitting only two inches from his face, he pretended to scour the fridge anyways, the cool embrace of the fridge hopefully erasing any trace of heat from his face.

Eventually he grabbed it and set it next to the other ingredients, pointedly not looking at Anders as he walked to his laptop.

 **hawkeward:** We’re not very good at being original.

 **Anders.kw:** What can I say, all the talk of canned spaghetti had me craving the real deal.

 **hawkeward:** Now we just have to avoid fucking it up

 **hawkeward:** Should be doable, probably

 

And it should have been. _It should have been doable._ But it was Hawke, the Masterchef of TV dinners, and there was a cute guy in his apartment so of _course_ he was incapable of cooking basic fucking spaghetti. He had to hand it to himself, though; he almost did it. He had brought the water to a boil, dumped half a package of noodles into the pot, and put the lid on while Anders fought with a potentially freezer burnt loaf of garlic bread.

And then, casually forgetting that boiling water turns into _steam,_ he removed the lid, allowing the vapor to shoot up into his face. He screeched in a completely undignified manner, not that Anders knew, thank the _Maker,_ and shoved his face into the sink as he turned the faucet on.

Anders was quick to notice and Hawke felt a rapid series of whacks against his back before Anders pulled him out. His forehead wrinkled in alarm before he grabbed the sides of Hawke’s face, scanning him for damage in a way that Hawke would have found almost intimate if he didn’t have splotches of discoloration marring his face.

_You ok?_

Hawke nodded, babbling in sign.

_Fine. Good. I’m ok, thanks._

Anders’ concerned expression morphed into downright amusement and a smile tugged at his lips. He gestured to the boiling pot and raised his eyebrows as if to say _Really? Really?_

Anders shook his head and pointed to the door.

_Go. I’ll finish._

_No!_

_Yes._

_It’s my apartment._

Anders switched to the laptop, looking exasperated, while Hawke rubbed furiously at his eyes.

 **Anders.kw:** Yeah, and you just about burned your face off. Go sit down, it’s almost done anyways.

 **hawkeward:** ur hte worst

 **Anders.kw:** I know. Now go sit. I’ll bring you a towel for your eyes.

Hawke, with a pout planted firmly on his face, grabbed his laptop and shuffled into the living room. He sat on the couch and Snoop immediately jumped onto him, licking a small portion of the redness that Hawke thought might’ve been caused by embarrassment.

Anders returned with a cloth as promised and Hawke threw it across his entire face, hiding himself from _the shame._ Snoop must have picked up on it because he curled his head into Hawke’s lap and whined pathetically while, unbeknownst to him, Anders grinned in the background before returning to the kitchen.

They stayed like that for a little while, pathetic in their own ways, until a loud clanging sound startled Hawke off of the couch. Anders stared at him, pot of spaghetti in hand, gesturing to the table like an exasperated mother.

Not exactly the mental picture he wanted to paint, but he washungry, so his weird, intrusive thoughts could wait. He didn’t want to be completely useless, though, so he grabbed the plates and Anders’ laptop, setting them onto the dining room table, before slinking down into a chair.

Anders portioned out the spaghetti before turning to his laptop.

 **Anders.kw:** Doesn’t look like you actually burned your face, so no trips to the ER for us tonight.

 **hawkeward:** good. They’d probably remember me from the last time.

 **Anders.kw:** Last time?

 **hawkeward:** Fell off of a set piece for a play I was in

 **hawkeward:** I was in full period costume so like imagine a guy dressed sort of like Shakespeare bleeding from the head and nursing a broken arm

Hawke took a bite of the noodles. Not bad – probably because Anders did most of the work – but still. Not bad.

 **Anders.kw:** You act? Really? The piss poor author and actor live right next to each other in a shitty, run-down apartment complex?

Although his face was stuffed with spaghetti, Anders looked amused.

 **hawkeward:** dunno if you can consider me an actor if I can only find work once a month

 **hawkeward:** But now that you mention it it does sound like some type of shitty rom com

 **hawkeward:** wait, do you watch movies?

Anders tilted his head at him and cocked an eyebrow.

 **Anders.kw:** Yeah. Closed captioning, lol.

 **hawkeward:** oh…right. That was kind of stupid question, sorry.

His face reddened noticeably and Anders smiled.

 **Anders.kw:** It’s fine, I’ve been asked way worse by people who know me way less.

 **Anders.kw:** One time, at a play, a guy found out I was deaf and offered to bring me the program in braille. He actually ripped the thing out of my hands and said he’d come back with another.

 **Anders.kw:** Pretty sure my translator wanted to murder him.

 **hawkeward:** holy shit

Hawke shook with laughter at the image of some idiot offering a deaf man braille. Hawke could be offensively stupid, but not _that_ offensively stupid.

 **hawkeward:** that’s amazing. Holy shit. You have a translator?

 **Anders.kw:** Yeah, I grew up with him. He translated for me at school and is usually with me when I’m talking to my publisher. He’s terrifying enough that things usually get bargained in my favor haha. I usually get by fine without him though.

 **hawkeward:** oh yeah, I was going to ask you about your writing, wasn’t I?

 **hawkeward:** so like, what do you write?

Anders shoved a piece of garlic bread into his mouth before typing out a rather long-winded response. By the time he finished, Hawke had already demolished most of his plate.

 **Anders.kw:** Well, there’s a difference between what I actually write and what I want to write. I publish teen fiction. Nothing highbrow– my last one was about werewolves, but from what I’ve been reading lately, teens are more into witches these days. Or cultists. Whatever. But it sells…ok? Enough to live on and to not have to pick up some part-time shit work, but not enough to not live here. I actually want to write about political theory but Maker knows that doesn’t sell so it’s more of a hobby than anything.

 **hawkeward:** So like, communist manifesto level shit, or something else?

 **Anders.kw:** Can’t say that that hasn’t influenced me, but no, nothing that big. It’s mostly me getting drunk and angry about class inequality and capitalism.

 **Anders.kw: S** orry, you probably don’t want to hear my political ramblings.

 **hawkeward:** are you implying that talking about politics DOESN’T turn me on?

With a fork halfway into his mouth, Anders laughed so hard that it clattered onto the table and dropped to the floor. Snoop rushed over and picked it up before Anders could even bend over, and despite Hawke’s efforts, he wouldn’t return it.

 **Anders.kw:** I guess I’m glad that was the last bite. Cats don’t do that, you know.

 **hawkeward:** whatever, my dog is angel. An idiot, but an angel.

 **hawkeward:** can I ask you some potentially stupid questions?

Anders nodded.

 **Anders.kw:** As long as you’re not going to offer me braille, yeah, shoot.

 **hawkeward:** can you lipread? Because I googled it and it said some deaf people can, but you haven’t asked me to talk or anything, so…

 **Anders.kw:** Not really, I was never trained. It’s pretty much useless if I don’t know the person. Even then, I wouldn’t be able to understand if you just spoke at me with no sign. I pick up maybe 10% of what’s going on. If you want to talk though, go ahead.

 **Anders.kw:** And I’m going to guess your next question is if I can talk. Yes, I can, but I don’t like to unless I absolutely have to.

 **hawkeward:** Noted. and damn, are you psychic?

 **Anders.kw:** No, I’ve just gotten that sequence of questions too many times to count lol.

Anders looked over the table - the pot of spaghetti empty and their plates clear - before locking gazes with Hawke.

 **Anders.kw:** And it looks like you’re done eating, so want to help me clean up? As much as I’ve enjoyed dinner and you burning yourself I really have to write tonight.

 **hawkeward:** Skip the cleaning. I have something else in mind.

Hawke stood while Anders cocked an eyebrow, a wicked smirk on his face.

_Oh? What?_

Within seconds he was at Anders’ side, his fingers tracing circles along the man’s stubbled jaw. Anders’ honey-gold eyes looked up at him, wide and expectant. With his free hand, Hawke signed,

_Is this ok?_

Anders rose from his seat and brushed his jaw against Hawke’s hand before grabbing it and tipping his head towards the couch. Hawke seemed to understand, if the slightly parted lips and blown pupils were anything to go by.

He led Anders to it, sitting casually in the middle, expecting Anders to sit to either side of him like the average person would. But Anders wasn’t _average_ , so he instead wasted no time by perching himself on Hawke’s lap, his forehead resting against Hawke’s own.

Not that Hawke was complaining. He could have sworn that Anders ground down just the slightest bit against him, but he might’ve dreamt it.

Maker, if this was a dream, Hawke was going to be _pissed._

Firm and insistent lips against his cheek dragged him out of his mind. Hawke’s hands tangled into Anders’ hair as if they had a mind of their own, and with care he pushed the back of Anders’ head towards him until they were flush against one another.

Anders moaned, barely audible, and Hawke swore he had never heard a sweeter sound. _Finally_ , his lips connected with Anders’ own. Anders’ hands scrambled to find some form of purchase, landing eventually on Hawke’s shoulders.

The kiss deepened and neither could figure out who, exactly, had done it. Hawke’s tongue slipped next to Anders’ just as Anders’ slipped next to his. A small pant escaped from Anders and Hawke had to wonder if he realized he was doing it because it was driving him insane with lust.

One of Hawke’s hands remained tight in Anders’ hair while the other travelled down, working its way under Anders’ obscenely tight button-up shirt. Hawke’s fingers teased along the small of his back, delighting in the dimples he found just above the line of Anders’ pants.

And as soon as it had started, Anders pulled away and slid next to him, his expression filled with guilt. Hawke’s eyebrows drew together, a little hurt, a little confused.

_You ok?_

Anders nodded as his eyes scanned the living room for the notebook and pen. He grabbed them from the coffee table and quickly wrote,

**_Wasn’t lying when I said I actually have to write tonight. I have a deadline and if we go any further than this I won’t be able to stop myself._ **

Hawke, although disappointed, understood.

**_If you insist :/ But you owe me another date then._ **

Anders chuckled.

**_Of course. Probably after this deadline, though, so I’m not tempted any more than I already am._ **

Anders stood up, stashing the notebook under his arm while gathering his laptop and bag. It didn’t take long, and soon Hawke was bidding him farewell at the door.

**_Text me. I’ll need plenty of distractions._ **

**_I’m the king of annoying texts so you can look forward to that._ **

With a chuckle, Anders brushed the hair from Hawke’s forehead and pressed a small kiss to it. He stashed the notebook into his bag and signed,

_Thanks for dinner._

It was pretty obvious that Anders was going easy on him with his signing, but Hawke was still satisfied that he understood everything that Anders had signed, including that.

_You’re welcome._

He pressed a kiss of his own to Anders’ lips before pulling away. The man gave him a small wave before unlatching the door and leaving.

As he shut the door behind him Hawke realized, with sudden horror, that he didn’t know _how long_ it would be until Anders hit his deadline.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 'M' rating comes into play this chapter, just as a warning :) Nothing...TOO explicit. 
> 
> As a reminder:  
> Signing: Italicized only  
> Writing: Bold and italicized  
> Skype: Bold usernames

As it turned out, the wait for Anders’ deadline wasn’t nearly as terrible as Hawke thought it would be because Anders visited him every night anyways.

Though they hadn’t gone on any _real_ dates (Maker, they were poor), they settled into a comfortable routine – as comfortable as a routine could be when two people worked odd, fluctuating hours. Though Hawke generally enjoyed his shifts at the Hanged Man, he would often work late: _somebody_ had to continue serving drinks to piss-wasted fools at one in the morning, and Fenris had emphatically said that he would not. Multiple times, with an increasingly irritated glare on his face each time Hawke asked.

Well, more money for Hawke, then. The bulge in his wallet at the end of his shifts attested to that, but it irritated him to no end that he made more money slinging drinks in a bar than pursuing his actual passion. Not much money in theater, though; the money he _did_ make from it was barely enough to cover his own tab at the Hanged Man.

Even when Hawke worked until 2am, Anders would show up at his door not five minutes later with a six-pack and a grin on his face, his laptop bag slung over his shoulder. The man’s sleep schedule was just as fucked as his own, it would seem. They would stay up until the crack of dawn laughing at infomercials, Anders’ laugh echoing seconds later, once the closed captioning caught up with the video.

And they would kiss. _Maker_ , they would kiss: sigh and laugh against each other while their hands and lips wandered. Anders had sucked his cock for the first time a few days prior, and afterwards Hawke felt like he was on top of the world.

Between their kisses and mockery of late night television, they would exchange stories. Work, life, how Ser-Pounce-A-Lot had puked on the carpet _again –_ every day was another mystery. On t _his_ particular day, though, Anders was complaining about his editor, though quite frankly that happened just about every other day, as much as Anders would deny it.

 **Anders.kw** : You know, usually I agree with my editor, but not this time.

 **Anders.kw** : Semicolons are the best; fuck her

Anders lounged on the sofa across from him ( _his_ perch, Hawke had determined – Snoop had been distraught) with an agitated looking expression on his face.

A particularly grating infomercial for women’s jewelry was playing; Anders should have been glad that he couldn’t hear it.

 **hawkeward** : You’re shitting me right?

 **hawkeward** : you complain about her all the time

 **hawkeward:** like

 **hawkeward:** In what circumstance do you ever agree with her?? I haven’t heard of one yet.

 **Anders.kw** : We agreed that my last book had the absolute WORST cover, ever.

 **Anders.kw:** But it’s not like I get any control over that.

 **hawkeward** : So you’re telling me the last time you agreed with her was…what…8 months ago?

 **Anders.kw** : 7

 **Anders.kw:** But point taken. I’m still angry though. I know she’s my editor and probably right, but Maker’s balls I love a good semicolon.

 **hawkeward** : I never knew a man could be so into grammar lol

 **Anders.kw** : Well…it’s kind of in the job description.

 **hawkeward:** you can just admit you have a hard-on for weird language shit, it’s cool

**hawkeward:** <https://i.imgur.com/3ZuoakA.jpg>

**hawkeward:** btw check out this cat

 **hawkeward:** it reminded me of you except it’s blind not deaf

Anders looked up from his laptop and shot Hawke a pointed look. Though his lips were tight, his eyes betrayed a certain amusement as he signed.

_Are you serious?_

Hawke nodded with a lopsided grin.

_Yeah, it’s cute. Like you!_

Though he should have probably been used to Hawke’s random compliments, Anders’ cheeks still flushed a light pink.

_You flatterer._

Hawke cocked his head. Having seen Anders nearly every day for the past few weeks had done wonders for his signing skills. He wasn’t fluent, of course, but they would exchange simple sentences and Hawke could usually, at minimum, understand the point that Anders was trying to get across.

Usually. Not this time.

_I don’t understand._

Anders had taught him that sign. It was a well-loved piece of his vocabulary.

The blond shook his head with a quiet laugh, a grin pulling at his lips. He fingerspelled it, slow enough for Hawke to comprehend, and nodded.

_Understand? You say too many nice things._

Hawke huffed and returned to his laptop.

 **hawkeward:** I will never stop saying nice things about you so you better get used to it :)

Across from him, Anders groaned.

 **Anders.kw:** If you insist.

 **Anders.kw:** But I’m glad you picked a cat. Far superior animal.

 **hawkeward** : Ok we’re not having the cats vs dogs argument again

 **hawkeward:** so instead I’m going to suggest that we head up to the rooftop and drink beer.

Anders’ eyebrows rose.

_Roof?_

Hawke elaborated.

 **hawkeward:** I figured out how to get up there without a key, you just gotta do some fancy work with a credit card on the door

Anders looked unconvinced, one eyebrow cocked in suspicion. Hawke didn’t particularly blame him; it probably wasn’t legal, though in such a shitty apartment complex, he doubted that anyone cared.

 **Anders.kw:** How the hell did you figure that out?

 **hawkeward:** boredom?

 **Anders.kw** : Is it legal?

 **hawkeward:** does it matter?

Anders shrugged.

 **Anders.kw** : No. Lead the way, then, but if we get arrested I’m pulling the deaf guy card and blaming it all on you.

 **hawkeward:** Jerk.

Anders flashed him a grin.

Hawke closed the lid of his laptop while Anders grabbed the six-pack of whatever swill he had managed to find at the liquor store. Of course, Hawke might be a little biased. Though the Hanged Man was a bit of a hole in the wall, he still made a damned good drink. He _also_ wasn’t one to reject free booze, so liquor store swill it was.

Hawke picked up the notebook that he had designated as Anders’ and, with a pen stuck inside of the spiral binding, shoved it under his armpit. Though he admittedly was _improving_ at sign language, there was no way he could carry on a meaningful conversation for however long they’d be up there.

He closed and locked the door on the way out while Anders signed with knitted brows.

_Where do we go?_

Hawke nodded his head up.

_Top floor._

Anders looked dubious but fortunately, no one was awake (or cared), and they managed to sneak to the roof-access door without trouble. Though he tried to hide it, Anders huffed and puffed next to him, clearly out of breath from climbing the few flights of stairs.

With one look at him, Hawke’s attempt to suppress a smirk failed.

_You’re mean. I don’t exercise._

Hawke shrugged.

_You need…_

He paused before continuing, fingerspelling with a shit-eating grin on his face.

_Cardio. For sex._

Immediately, Anders fingers shot up to his temples and he massaged them, a flustered expression on his face as he lowered them and fired off another sign.

_Ridiculous._

Hawke looked obscenely pleased at the blush crossing Anders’ cheeks. Anders adamantly refused to look at him and instead gestured to the door with a quick wave of his hand.

_Open it._

With one hand in the pocket of his sweatshirt, digging for his wallet, Hawke grinned. It wasn’t often that he got the other man so flustered, and he was going to enjoy every second of it.

_Am I wrong?_

Anders gave him a half-hearted glare, though it was more amused than anything else, the sides of his lips quirking up.

_Not telling you. Open the door._

Hawke scoffed and, with some effort (and, _okay_ , he might have gone to the door a few different times to make sure he could actually open it), clicked the door open with a slide of his card.

The night was completely black, the only real sources of light a flickering overhead beam and a handful of haphazardly placed streetlights on the sidewalk below. It was enough to illuminate them, and the relatively bare rooftop, at least. The sight from above was much more impressive from the view from the ground, really, as one couldn’t see the overflowing dumpsters from 5 stories up.

Anders paused momentarily, taking in the view of the city, before settling onto the edge of the roof. His feet dangled off of the edge and he sat the beer beside him. He waved Hawke over and offered him a drink and Hawke took it with a contented smile, clinking it against Anders’ as he slunk to the concrete next to him.

It was a struggle to open it. The usual shit that they drank could easily be popped open, but whatever Anders had brought with him that night proved to be far more difficult. Inevitably, Hawke ended up opening both bottles with his sweatshirt, and he spilled a small amount onto himself.

“Shit,” he grunted, and Anders sat laughing loudly at his side.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Hawke said, adding a sloppily signed version of his words after.

Anders just shook his head.

_But you’re funny._

Hawke simply huffed and took a swig of the alcohol. Anders must have _splurged_ because whatever it was was delicious. Cider of some kind, but he couldn’t place exactly what. He took another drink and turned to Anders.

_What is this?_

_Blueberry!_

Anders grabbed the notebook that Hawke had sat between them. It hadn’t been spared from having alcohol splattered across it, and Anders had to settle for a page that was only half covered in brown stains.

**_Got a nice check from publisher today. REALLY nice. So I bought decent booze. And a bunch of new shit for Pounce._ **

Anders had underlined the word ‘really’ about 5 times. Hawke was a little surprised that he didn’t include tiny dollar signs along with it.

He took the notebook from Anders.

**_from your last book? And of course the first thing you would buy would be for your fucking cat._ **

Anders shook his head.

**_No the one before that. Had a big surge in sales last quarter, dunno why. And why are you surprised?_ **

**_I shouldn’t be. well I’m not gonna complain about alcohol that doesn’t taste like literal piss. Congrats though, that’s fucking sweet._ **

Anders snickered.

**_I thought you wouldn’t mind. And thanks._ **

He added a tiny smiley face right next to it, and Hawke couldn’t help but smile himself. He put the glass to his lips and took another sip, and another, as they sat in silence and watched the emptiness of the city, lights flickering in the distance.

The silence was soothing and it surprised him. He was so used to _noise_ – he was a bartender and an actor, for Maker’s sake – so he initially thought that the silence with Anders, peppered with the occasional rowdy laughter, would unnerve him. However, it was really quite the opposite, and Hawke came to treasure the silent nights that he would spend with his attractively frazzled, slightly cat-crazy neighbor.

They were halfway through another drink (that Hawke had not spilled, _thank you_ ) when Anders reached over and rested his hand on top of Hawke’s own. With his other hand, he signed, a remarkably open expression on his face.

_Thank you._

With the bottle pressed firmly to his lips, Hawke cocked an eyebrow.

_Why?_

Anders grabbed the notebook and began to write.

**_For taking the time. Learning sign and actually spending time with me. Sometimes people will start to get close to me but pull back when they think learning sign is “too hard”. I have Deaf friends and yeah that’s nice but it always hurts when you think you might have something with someone and they just leave. You didn’t do that. You try. I appreciate it._ **

Added below that,

**_Also you’re hot and that’s nice._ **

Though Hawke was touched, he had to stifle a laugh. Of course Anders would end on that note. Of course he would.

_It’s all good._

Hawke smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. It was the best way that he could find to express his emotions through sign with such a limited vocabulary.

He elaborated with the notebook.

**_It’s funny, at first I was so angry at you bc of the whole music thing, but you turned out to be literally the coolest fucking guy on the planet. They’re missing out but I guess that means I get you to myself then. And I know :)_ **

A wide grin spread across Anders’ face as he read the note, much to Hawke’s approval. He set it to the side and twined his fingers with Hawke’s again, turning to face him. Their gaze met, and although their surroundings were dimly lit, Hawke could see the want in him, the gold in his eyes nearly consumed by black.

While that could have just been because it was dark, Hawke chose to believe otherwise. The look on Anders’s face, predatory and gleaming, had nothing to do with the lighting or lack thereof.

His beliefs were confirmed when Anders lunged at him, his other hand clutching into the navy fabric of his sweatshirt as he firmly pressed his lips against Hawke’s. Hawke’s eyebrows shot up in surprise; with the alcohol in his system, he hadn’t noticed Anders moving until he was already latched onto him. Still, Hawke wound both arms around Anders’ waist, carefully untangling one hand from Anders’ grip as he pulled the man closer. Anders nipped at the bottom of his lip and Hawke let out a soft moan, his breath tickling the edge of Anders’ jaw.

It was precarious, sitting on the edge of the rooftop, but the thought was soon out of Hawke’s mind once he nudged Anders away from the edge and onto his back. Anders hissed at the cool touch of cement on the base of his neck, and he glanced up from Hawke’s kiss-swollen lips to meet his eyes, signing.

_Here?_

Hawke nodded.

_Yeah. That ok?_

_Fuck yes._

Anders slipped further back, away from the ledge, and spread his legs open in invitation. Hawke took a moment to remove his sweatshirt, revealing a tight undershirt, but not before dumping out a condom and small bottle of lube onto the cement. It turned out to not be a bad investment after all.

Anders looked up at him with something between amusement and incredulity.

_Really??_

Hawke shrugged, tucking the bulk of his sweatshirt underneath Anders’ head.

_You’re not complaining._

Anders huffed but ceased in his signing, and Hawke took that as his cue to continue. He lowered himself onto Anders, his chest pressing comfortably against him. Anders looked positively greedy, his tongue darting out to lick along the edge of his lips while Hawke tangled his fingers in Anders’ hair. He gave it a light tug and Anders moaned happily, his hands shooting up to rest upon Hawke’s waist.

Though the air around them was cold and every breath Hawke exhaled formed a small cloud, Anders was warm, a heavy flush crossing his cheeks as Hawke pressed kisses down his jaw. One particularly rough nip forced a ragged exhale from Anders and his hands clutched tighter into the thin material of Hawke’s shirt. He slid his hands under it and tried to force it off, but Hawke, grinning, refused to move, intent on his task of nipping and kissing every available inch of Anders’ skin.

Anders removed his hands from the shirt and placed them in front of Hawke’s face, almost swatting him in the eye with his irritated signing.

_Take it off._

He accompanied the sign with multiple tugs to the shirt, a fat pout on his lips as he tried to squirm away from Hawke’s incessant kissing. As Anders continued to attempt to wiggle out of reach, Hawke pulled back with a mocking pout of his own but finally, _finally_ gave in, quickly removing his shirt and throwing it somewhere to the side. Maker knows he’d forget where.

_Happy?_

Anders nodded, his eyes dragging down the length of Hawke’s hairy, well-defined chest with a smirk. His eyes darted back up to meet Hawke’s.

With the offending shirt out of the way, Anders brought a hand up to Hawke’s chest and tweaked a nipple that had hardened from the cold. Hawke responded with a grunt, pushing the hand away to remove Anders’ own shirt. Unlike Hawke, Anders immediately complied, sitting up and allowing Hawke to remove and toss his own jacket and shirt into a small pile.

Though Hawke had seen Anders without his shirt a few times before, albeit drunk, his lips still twitched in appreciation as Anders writhed under him, searching for a source of heat. He wanted to lean down and lick every single freckle that dotted Anders’ lithe, pale form, but the time that it would take him to accomplish such a task would leave the poor man desperate and wanting.

Instead, he settled on a small constellation of freckles that dusted Anders’ belly, lightly pressing his lips to each of them at a pace that drove Anders wild. The man bucked under him, his hips arching up in a futile effort to draw Hawke’s attention, a litany of soft moans falling from his lips as Hawke’s lips traced the defined crest of his pelvis.

The moans grew louder as Hawke’s hands dug into Anders’ pants, dragging them down far enough so the hard line of his member was visible through his boxers. Anders’ cock was something that Hawke had come to appreciate; it curved slightly to the left, which Hawke found oddly endearing, and the veins that ran across the top made Hawke want to lean down and suck him into his mouth.

In fact, that sounded like an absolutely brilliant idea to him, and he shucked Anders’ boxers down to his knees in one movement, taking his cock into his hand soon after. Anders made an almost pained sounding noise, an exhalation on top of a vocalization that sounded completely debauched and desperate. He caught his lower hip between his teeth and a flush coated his cheeks as Hawke began to move his hand. It started at an almost agonizingly slow pace, the pants and moans falling from Anders’ mouth loud, but manageable.

And yet. Hawke increased the rhythm, the flick of his wrist against Anders’ cock familiar and warm. The pleased sounds that Anders made were lovely and beautiful and every other fitting word that Hawke could think of, but they were also _loud._

Very loud. Loud enough that Hawke was acutely aware of the possibility of any of their neighbors hearing them and finding them sprawled, half naked, on the roof. He slowly removed his hand from Anders’ member and Anders’ eyes shot up to look at him, annoyance visible on his face.

_What? Don’t stop, stupid!_

Hawke shook his head, a smirk forming at the corner of his lips.

_Sorry. You’re beautiful. But loud._

Anders cocked an eyebrow.

_Loud?_

_Yeah. I –_

Hawke paused, unsure how to continue, and instead pointed at their apartment building, adding:

_People. Sleep._

Anders mouth formed a small ‘o’.

_Sorry. I’ll be quiet._

Anders mimed a zipper crossing his lips and Hawke chuckled softly before once more settling himself onto Anders, their chests pressed flush against one another. It occurred to him that perhaps the entire issue could be fixed by simply _kissing_ the man while he stroked his cock, so he set to work doing just that.

The first kiss to Anders’ neck sent a shiver down his spine. His reddened lips parted, a small exhale escaping them. It seemed almost a tragedy to silence the delightful noises that Anders produced, but still, Hawke pressed his lips to Anders’, locking them together. His hand then moved to Anders’ cock, gripping it at the base. A soft moan fell from Anders but Hawke managed to silence it with a kiss, his teeth nibbling at Anders’ bottom lip while he stroked.

And that was successful – for a few minutes, anyways. The soft, pleased noises were mostly muffled by Hawke until Hawke’s fingers circled around the edge of Anders’ ass, pressing just the lubed tip of his finger into him. _That_ forced an utterly shameless, loud moan from Anders, and Hawke’s body tensed at the thought of anyone around them hearing.

Not that Anders moans were bad, by any means. No. But they were _his_ to hear, and quite frankly, he didn’t fancy getting arrested with his fingers half stuck up his partner’s ass.

Hawke removed his finger, wiped it on his pants, and scanned the ground around them for the abandoned notebook and pen. Anders sat up with a rather grouchy face, but this time, at least, he seemed to understand why Hawke hastily scribbled a few words into a notebook and then tossed it to him.

**_Enjoying this but don’t want to get arrested. Inside?_ **

The sour expression on Anders’ face gradually grew into a laugh, his cheeks tinted a bright enough pink that Hawke could see even in the relative darkness.

**_Sorry. Yeah. Can’t monitor it, it’s happened before. Inside is good._ **

Hawke waved his hand dismissively before writing down another note.

**_It’s fine. You’ll just have to maintain ur boner until then._ **

Anders nodded seriously.

_I’ll survive._

It was Hawke’s turn to laugh, then, and his guffaws echoed off of the walls with the same force as Anders’ moans had.

_Ok. Put your pants on._

And Anders did, sort of. It was a little difficult with his erection that had yet to falter, but he managed to slide them up to a point where they at least _covered_ him. Hawke was already standing at the door, holding it open.

_After you._

Anders nodded, a wide grin plastered on his face.

_Thank you._

He looked at the warm smirk on Hawke’s face and for one of the few times in his life, the gratitude was sincere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god sorry for taking SO long to post this! I started grad school and I had to take a few months to adjust to everything. Sorry for the complete tease in this chapter, but if you're looking for actual smut, go check out my fic Wired Desires. There's plenty of that there - just check the tags because it's not for everyone.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed the last chapter of this, the feedback I've gotten up to this point has been astounding.


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